Prologue - Hymns of Silence I Invitation
by Ciscaenxhefre
Summary: ...who could resist a charming wanderer, straying in from the cold so late in the night?
1. Chapter 1

I.

Invitation

_Bruma, Cyrodiil_

_Middas, 3E 432, 12__th__ of Last Seed_

Bruma's imposing circular fortress stood tall atop the serpentine pass as it bid the assassin welcome from his long, harsh journey. He reflexively shivered forward into his horse's mane, drawing his hood closer as gusts of freezing air gnashed around his bare skin. Despite the nearly intolerable conditions, this occasion demanded Lucien feel extremely grateful for the city's unforgiving weather. He estimated it was about 1 or 2 in the morning— right on schedule; and who could resist a charming wanderer, straying in from the cold so late in the night? Nord hospitality would never permit them to turn away such a case- nor would their greed resist the coin profited from a stranger's room and board, if need be. Contracts in Bruma were simple, since they merely required some careful planning beforehand. Lucien almost yawned out of boredom as he imagined the unsatisfying kill awaiting him, until another piercing wind jolted him from such thoughts.

As the stables appeared just around the hilltops, Lucien brought the horse's trot to a halt. He steadily dismounted, grabbing hold of the reins once more as he straightened his robes. He led Shadowmere a few steps farther, then turned to gently stroke her face.

"This is where we part, dear friend. I will return to you swiftly."

Shadowmere lowered her head dutifully, blinking at her master to signify she understood. Lucien passed the reins to the stable hand and made his way toward the city gates, nodding as he flashed a mischievous smile at the stationed guard.

"What brings you to Bruma, _friend_?"

"I'm here on…business." Lucien replied casually.

"At this time of night?"

"Indeed...sadly, my organization's most esteemed benefactor has fallen ill. I've journeyed here with his remedies. It was no easy task getting here, I assure you." Lucien parted the lower half of his robe, revealing two small purses attached to his belt. The guard leaned forward to squint at the bags, grumbling as he turned to unlock the gate.

"Sorry to hear that. Hope he feels better."

Lucien felt his body igniting with the desire to end the ignorant buffoon's life; but with all of the restraint he could muster, reluctantly mumbled 'thank you' and continued onto the city's cobblestone streets.

Lucien picked the entry door's lock with ease, surveying the front room as he slipped into the house. He cringed as the old wood moaned under his weight, his eyes immediately darting across the length of the moonlit rooms. Nothing against the rotting walls stood out to him, except for a sparsely decorated dining area along with a single, empty bookcase. A peculiar chill marked the interior of the house, and not even the embers of a recently lit fire glowed in the hearth pit. Lucien sniffed at the air, and suddenly that all-too-familiar metallic smell reached his nostrils— "_Blood!"_ he thought, his mind racing as he imagined what sort of events may have transpired in the house prior to his arrival. He quickly collected himself, gliding over the worn floor as he cautiously stepped towards the staircase. A darkened hallway gaped before him once he reached the landing, the outline of a door barely visible at the opposite end of the corridor. Lucien assumed the most recent "visitor" must have left the door ajar, the flickering of candlelight just discernible from beyond the threshold. He quieted his breaths, paced his steps one at a time, and rested his hand on his blade as he lingered just beside the door. The wind rattled against the decaying structure but with a little effort he strained to listen, waiting patiently for a sound that never came.

He took a silent inhale, and in one swift movement drew his blade and thrust the door open. He stood prepared to attack; his eyes rapidly assessing the room until his gaze fell upon a bloody heap sprawled across the bed. He pulled his gaze from the deformity in front of him, scouring the room for any sign of the individual responsible for the loss of his contract. A single window illuminated the room from the opposite corner, and he cautiously approached it to check if the murderer was still near the premises. He tugged up at the pane, still drawn tightly down into the sill, and noted the unbroken glass. His eyes scanned for another door or hatch in the floor, but he discovered no other means of escape. Confident the assailant had long since fled the scene, he sheathed his blade and frowned at the corpse. "_Forgive me, Mother…I was too late. Now I must know- who has been so foolish as to interfere with our affairs?"_

Upon closer inspection, he found a small note at the side of the body. He snatched it up with frustration and walked over to the window. The moon illuminated the shaky, inconsistent scrawl embedded on the page:

_I trust by now I've your full, undivided attention. I can bet you are quite enraged with my untimely…interruption. I imagine your incredulity as you read this note, and that you can barely concentrate on one word because you are shaking so violently at the thought of strangling me with your own two hands. _

_Believe me- I would ask for nothing more. _

_Meet me at Dead Man's Drink in Falkreath, Skyrim. _

_I eagerly await your arrival. _

Lucien crumpled the note in his hand, and pressed on the bridge of his nose with the other. He lowered both his hands in anger and cast a ferocious gaze onto the snow-caked rooftops below. "_Insolent, meddling little twat! Ah, but I will soon grant your 'wish'…I will have your soul in Sithis' clutches before you even feel my blade across your neck!"_ he proclaimed silently, before drawing a deep inhale and removing one of his gloves. He stepped towards the candle, watching as the wax dripped into a puddle near the corpse's side. He wet his fingers and absent-mindedly extinguished the flame, his thoughts soon shifting in a new direction. "_Still...this is quite suspicious. To steal a contract from the Dark Brotherhood, in exchange for their own life? Of course this was premeditated, but one must question such...unorthodox measures." _He shoved the note into his sleeve and hastily exited the house, already planning his course to Falkreath before his boots hit the snow-covered streets.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

Northern Lights

_Pine Forest, Skyrim_

_Middas, 3E 432 19__th__ of Last Seed_

The first scratched open Lucien's arm and commanded a nearby fox to attack, while two more emerged from the trees. He grew dizzy as his arm flailed limply through the air, gathering his remaining strength to cast a meager Flare spell at the creatures. Shadowmere rose to her hind legs and kicked at the assailants, but she'd prove no match for these enemies. The Spriggans were closing in on them rapidly, Lucien's magicka steadily running out. As he forced one last sputtering of fire from his palm, an arrow whistled past his face and struck clear through the Matron's head. She released a final screech of defeat, the two remaining Spriggans quickly echoing her cries. Lucien gasped as he turned to identify his rescuer, sighting a sly smile and pointy ears from behind the trees.

"Careful, traveler. You'd do well not to wander through these forests alone."

A male Bosmer stepped forward, casually checking the tension line on his bow. Lucien knelt beside the Spriggans dimly glowing corpses, recovering any arrows left intact.

"Here," he said quietly as he handed them back to the owner. "You're going to need these, in case you run into any more careless individuals."

He scolded himself internally; his thoughts were so preoccupied with what awaited him in Falkreath that he'd been completely blindsided by the ambush. The elf approached him, touching the tip of his finger to the arrow heads before placing them back into their quiver. Lucien studied the elf, his light blue eyes beaming as he surveyed the landscape.

"_Those eyes...they remind me of someone I once met..."_ Lucien shuddered at the memory, turning away from the elf. The Bosmer smiled and nodded his head before disappearing into the wilderness, leaving as abruptly as he'd arrived. Lucien's mind drifted towards thoughts of the blue-eyed High Elf he'd met several years ago, still unable to explain the strange turn of events that transpired that fateful evening.

Lucien stumbled back towards Shadowmere, searching for a healing potion in his satchel. After taking a few swigs of the elixir and bandaging his wounded arm, he mounted his loyal companion for the final leg of their voyage.

_Skingrad, Cyrodiil _

_Fredas, 3E 423 26__th__ of Midyear (9 years earlier)_

"Sinderion, is it?"

The alchemist shifted uncomfortably in his chair, adjusting the flame beneath his alembic while tapping one of the vessels impatiently. Without turning he grumpily answered, "Yes, yes...come back and see me in the morning, I'm in the middle of some imperative research."

Lucien ignored the Altmer's statement and stepped slowly towards his work desk, looking around at the various ingredients and books messily scattered throughout the room.

"Ah, then my sources were correct. I've heard you're the authority on this special little herb...tends to grow near water, and when you're close enough it emits a chiming, nearly magical sort of sound..."

"Nirnroot!" Sinderion cried, clapping his hands together like a child. "Tell me...have you found any?" He looked at Lucien eagerly, watching as he ran his index fingers along the top of a bookshelf, mouthing the titles of a few books to himself.

"On the contrary...I'm looking for some myself."

Sinderion grew visibly disappointed, casting his eyes downward before turning back towards the desk. "Well, I can't be of any help to you there. I've actually been conducting numerous agricultural experiments, so that I might be able to grow them one day. Although...my new assistant might be able to point you in the right direction."

"Oh?" Lucien pressed, feigning interest. He smiled to himself, satisfied he was about to get the information he'd wanted all along.

"Yes, his name is Scathach. Moves around quite a bit, but currently resides right here, in Skingrad. Rather convenient for you, wouldn't you say?" Sinderion asked with a chuckle.

"Quite convenient, indeed. Thank you for your help. Good luck with your...endeavors."

Sinderion mumbled and waved his hand dismissively at Lucien's reply, who was already halfway through the door leading upstairs.

After persuading some unsuspecting townsfolk in the inn, Lucien eventually located Scathach's house on the city's narrow residential street. He overheard two guards chatting around the corner, striding past them and lingering just outside the door until they walked away. Once alone, he dashed into the archway and successfully picked the lock, pushing the heavy wood forward noiselessly. He crept throughout every room in the house without finding a soul, questioning if his target really still dwelled within Skingrad.

"_That only leaves the basement, but there is no...basement..." _He thought, moving stealthily across the dining area once more. He scanned the walls, noting that all but one of the candlesticks was unlit. A mischievous grin spread over his lips as he lightly tugged on the holder, and watched a hidden compartment open in the wall. He waited, growing tense as he listened to the wood drag across the floor. "_If anyone's down there, they've just been alerted I'm here..." _

He stood and drew his dagger, bracing himself for confrontation as he moved through the tunnel. He counted each step as his boots clicked and resonated against the damp stone walls, imagining the suspense and fear welling up in his victim. When he finally reached the end of the passage, he ducked as a figure lunged at him with unbridled ferocity but managed to throw the attacker over his shoulder. Lucien could see his contract, backed against the far wall and shaking her head as he approached.

"_No—please! Don't do this!_"

The Altmer woman's cries fell on deaf ears as Lucien advanced, suddenly feeling his weight plummet towards the floor. The figure let go of Lucien's ankle and stepped around his body, brandishing a sword near his face. Lucien pushed himself up and remained crouched, smirking at the figure.

"Ah, you must be Scathach. Sinderion...suggested I come see you."

Scathach didn't budge, his mouth twitching with anger as Lucien continued, "But I'm not here for you. It seems your wife has an arrangement..._with Sithis!_"

He grabbed hold of the sword, the blade cutting through his gloves as he pushed it aside and jumped at Scathach's neck. Scathach prepared himself as Lucien's hands encircled his throat, looking into Lucien's eyes as he calmly said, "Your master...has already been sent a soul to appease his hunger."

Lucien loosened his grip, looking at Scathach's wife out of the corner of his eye as she collapsed in a fit of tears. Scathach caught his breath and explained, "The person who prayed for my wife's death...has been murdered. By my hand."

Lucien released the elf and stepped back, sheathing his dagger as he looked on Scathach fondly. "Ah...how intriguing. I admire your determination. Your efforts will be deemed most pleasing to the Dread Lord. However as a rule, the contract must eliminate someone...by _their own hand_." He threw a hostile glance at Scathach's wife as she cowered and leaned against the wall for support.

"_No!_" Scathach yelled as he stepped between them. "I have soiled my hands to save my wife's life! If you must...then take me in her place!" He picked his sword up from the floor, offering it to Lucien as he shut his eyes to await the finishing blow.

Lucien steadied himself, his eyes transfixed on the blade. He stood still for about a minute as his thoughts switched between what he knew he should do, and what he wanted to do. He lifted the sword from Scathach's hands, shaking while the woman's agonizing, hyperventilating breaths banged like an incessant drum against his ears. When she let out a bloodcurdling scream in anticipation of her husband's violent dying moment, Lucien dropped the blade. Scathach opened his eyes as the thin metal rattled against the floor, shooting Lucien a confused but grateful look.

Lucien turned to retreat into the tunnel, addressing Scathach over his shoulder. "No one must ever know what happened here. I leave you...with this reminder." He removed his glove, imprinting his bloodied hand against the stone walls. Scathach rushed towards his wife and held her tightly as she trembled with fright and relief, trying to prop her back onto her feet. He stared at Lucien's mark as it glistened under the torch light, his eyes never leaving the stain until the couple withdrew from the hidden room.

_Falkreath, Skyrim _

_Middas, 3E 432 19__th__ of Last Seed_

The dusk sky differed little from the light of dawn in Falkreath- rain clouds loomed over the primitive dwelling like a permanent fixture. Leaving Shadowmere at the gates, Lucien walked unobserved down the hamlet's main path. All was quiet except for the humming chorus of insects and the muffled, disembodied voice of a priest of Arkay, reciting the final words of a customary funeral rite. He remembered the size of the town's graveyard; ineffectually pondering how many bodies he might have contributed to the cemetery over the course of his seldom journeys into Skyrim. At that hour, the majority of villagers were already settled in their homes, no doubt their stomachs full while restful sleep beckoned impatiently. The tavern was situated only steps away, Lucien now able to make out the muted sounds of merriment and mead-drenched ramblings suppressed within its walls.

He collected himself, working to quell the pain from his arm as it numbed his veins. He cautiously entered through the door, not surprised that his presence went largely unacknowledged. Lucien searched the tavern for any indication of the interloper's whereabouts, considering the possibility they would not be amongst this violently intoxicated rabble. He suddenly felt a presence at his side, sweeping together fallen tankards and food scraps from beneath one of the tables. Lucien noted the figure's shapeliness as it moved with a feminine, graceful elegance and started, "Excuse me, miss..." The figure moved to its feet- revealing that it certainly was a girl- still balancing the debris she'd collected in both of her hands.

A slight cry escaped the girl's lips when she looked into Lucien's face, and he knew at that moment she was the composer of that wretched note. "_Humph...sly little Nord minx. I'll admit; even I'm a bit surprised..." _He drowned out the din of metal clanking onto the floor as he moved towards her, the tankard's remaining contents splattering across the bottom of his robe. The girl's eyes fluttered around the room as she shrunk back, her expression shifting to resemble that of cornered prey. Lucien's body moved reflexively, while his heart curiously panged with an undeniable intensity. At the moment he reached out to grab hold of her, he felt a breeze pass over his shoulder and shot out his arm, breaking the intended embrace of a tavern customer. The man paid no mind to Lucien's aggressive stance, swaying to and fro as he attempted to steady his eyes on Lucien's face.

"Hellooo there, my Imperial friend! What bringsh you...to Shkyrim?" He hiccoughed and stuttered, curling the corners of his mouth upward like a gleeful baby. The man lurched forward, nearly falling on top of Lucien as he instinctively held his arms out to catch him. His face contorted with disgust as the man raised his head and exhaled heavily, "Pffffttt, no matter! All mankind are welcome here in Shkyrim! It's those damn _elves_...who need to keep out!"

Lucien forcefully pushed the man off of him, barely flinching as the man fell backwards onto the floor. He heard the girl step forward and quietly strain, "E-excuse me, sir..."

She started moving past him, but he swiftly turned to face her and reactively dug his fingers into her arm. As she writhed in his grasp he brought his mouth closer to her ear and growled, "_You're not getting cold feet now, are you?_"

He kept her pinned against his chest, stepping back slightly to gauge her response. He took in her milky white skin and deep chestnut hair, shining under the flickering flames. She looked up at him warily, her silver eyes striking him as two bright, perfect moons floating atop a sea of her tears; his eyes briefly hovering on a long, pointed scar stretching from the middle of her cheek to just over the arch of her brow. She kept silent, her red lips slightly parted and quivering as she fought to pull her eyes from his burning stare.

'_She's like a beautiful, dumb creature...preparing to die as the hunter's arrow sinks deeper into the wound,' _he ripped his fingers out of her arm, watching as she staggered back.

"Perhaps we can go somewhere private to..._discuss_ the matter at hand?" Lucien asked expectantly, after taking a moment to compose himself. The girl straightened and lowered her head with reluctant compliance, motioning for Lucien to follow. He watched her closely as she led him into one of the smaller side rooms, taking his eyes off of her for a split second as he crossed the threshold. She stayed behind him to close and lock the door, and he found it peculiar that he'd allowed her to act with such independence; realizing too late how greatly he'd compromised his advantage over the situation. As the door clicked shut he slammed onto the floor, instantly immobilized by a paralysis spell.


End file.
